Over the course of my adult life, I’ve built a writer’s house. Not on purpose, mind you. I spent years trying not to build one. Sweeping and organizing and worrying over dishes piling in the sink. I worried about the state of the carpet, the state of the bathtub. I was taught as a child, as a girl in a fundamentalist religion, that the home was an expression of myself. That if my home wasn’t clean, I was a failure. 

Fighting against yourself never works though. And now I’ve given up doing that, and I live in a writer’s home. 

A writer’s home will always be a little messy. There will always be a story to write, or read, and that takes precedence over dusting and organizing. The windows won’t sparkle. The floor will often be in need of sweeping, and sometimes it will get it. The keyword in a writer’s home is often spills. Books are spilling off shelves. Even the most modern among us can’t get go of our physical books, even if e-books are delightfully convenient things. Coffee and tea spills can be spotted on couches and counters. 

A writer’s home will often have some sort of craft supplies. While we express ourselves through our words, some things have to be worked out visually. I’ve never met a writer that wasn’t also a painter, or a scrapbooker. A knitter, a still life drawer, a bullet journal fanatic. Stickers, paintbrushes, and paper scraps usually fall out of drawers. They were organized when they went in, no one’s really sure how the current state came to be. Cameras, and all of their accessories, cover dresser tops. And of course, even if we write everything on our beloved computers, there are always pens and notebooks around. 

A writer’s home will also have some things one might not expect, and might be hard to explain. Decorative swords hanging on the walls, for instance. Posters and fan art from our favorite characters or worlds. Replicas of axes, phasers and wands. Tiny models of starships. Whole Lego worlds, built and put on display. Writers are often people who’ve held onto their inner child, and are fond of letting them out to play. 

A writer’s house is often full of music. We feel music, and some of us need it to get through our days. Music to keep us company while we do any drudgery sort of chore. Carefully crafted playlists for our all-important Writing Time. Above all else, a writer loves a song that tells a story. 

There are always good places to sit down, or lay down, in a writer’s home. When the best activity someone can think of is to rest somewhere comfortable with a book, and usually a snack, then there will be cushion-filled nooks in almost every room. Any room that it can be gotten away with. Pillows stacked on a windowsill. Sofas with blankets across the back shoved close to the window. Beds with plenty of pillows so that the writer can sit up in bed and read. And of course, a spot for writing with a comfortable desk chair. 

Then another spot, often a kitchen table, in case the desk is too much pressure that day. 

A writer’s home is usually shared. If not by a human companion, then by a furry one. Or a feathered or scaly one. Some loyal companion that’s always down for a nap in a sunny spot while the writer does what they do so often. Someone to remind us that it’s important to rest as well. Someone to insist that we do go outside sometimes, at least for a few minutes. Someone to remind us that the world outside our stories isn’t all coldness and sorrow. That sometimes it’s a wagging tale, a purring chest. 

A writer’s home isn’t one often seen by people outside of it. We’re sensitive creatures, and we know that our homes don’t live up to the standards of other people. So if you’re invited into a writer’s home, be kind. Be gentle. You’ll be rewarded with a comfortable place to rest, a good snack, and something lovely to read. 

Thanks for letting me be a little more lyrical than usual today. I love my home and wanted to offer it a pose poem out of gratitude. Sometimes I need to feel less informative and more artistic. After all, we’re all artists here, right? If you want to see more of this pose poetry, let me know. I never get tired of writing it.